My Own Reflection
by the bills
Summary: she wanted to rip out his tongue and feed it to the wolves. she was a wolf now. alternately named: CRYING LIGHTNING. some nice tyrell incest for y'all. in my AU prince!gendry verse where margaery and jon snow are wed. for a tiny bit of background read BONES, but it's not necessary in the slightest. ONESHOT.


"I don't understand."

She looked quizzically from her father to her mother, and to her brother in turn. "I don't get it. I was supposed to marry the crown prince. I was supposed to be a Baratheon queen. I was going to wed Renly. You _told me_ I was going to wed Renly."

Nothing was going according to plan.

"Right now," her aging father elaborated, "ties with the Starks are much more valuable to us than those with the Baratheons."

"But you always need good connections with the king!" Margaery argued. "And I'm not even marrying a Stark. Brother, you surely can't stand for this. I won't be married to a bastard. I'm to be a queen."

But Willas shook his head. "It's what's best, sister. You will understand some day. He treats the bastard as if he was trueborn, and if Robb were to die, he would be heir. The amount of joy we gave Ned Stark, the amount of gratitude he feels towards us, for giving a more than worthy bride to his stupid bastard son? That's priceless. He will never be able to repay that debt."

"Well," snapped the girl, snatching her skirts in her fists to make for an effective getaway, "he isn't a Lannister, now is he?"

She was gone.

* * *

"I don't understand."

"Margaery," her mother tried to explain, a look of helplessness on her face, "the Starks wouldn't have it any other way. Besides, Winterfell is much larger, much more inviting, than Highgarden. Guests will have a more luxurious stay if the Wedding is at the castle of your betrothed. You must believe me."

"But Winterfell is so cold," the girl argued, "so cold you feel lonely and bitter."

"Well, you're to be a woman of the North, Lady Snow," her brother said with the faintest hint of menace in his voice, "you'd best be comfortable with a bit of the chills."

She sent him a look that could chill his every pore and left. He only grinned.

* * *

"I don't understand."

"That's a lie, you know. It always has been." She'd been speaking to herself, but knew in advance that Willas would answer her, trying to surprise her from behind. She waited for him to continue. "You understand. You just don't want to."

She wanted to rip out his tongue and feed it to the wolves.

She was a wolf now.

* * *

_**And though I try so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction,**_

_**There was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw**_

* * *

She was to be wed a fortnight after the Stark girl, so for thirteen summer days and fourteen summer nights she stood alone at her window, wondering when the summer snows would arrive, wondering when she would face winter at last.

The wedding of the Stark girl was a strange one, for the boy had been a ward of Eddard Stark's. The Starks, Baratheons, and Greyjoys were never a fantastic mix for a feast, but there was nothing to be done about it. Margaery caught Willas' eyes following the bride to and fro and she let him know she would use that against him. Margaery watched her betrothed prance around to and fro and waited for him to come forward and introduce himself. After he'd had enough wine, he did just that. She watched him walk over, determined, and trip over his own feet. She would have laughed if she hadn't been in such a sour mood.

"Margaery," was his pseudo-greeting. It wasn't like she didn't know who he was, and he the same. The yelling, jesting, and singing noises of the party engulfed them. She watched Jon Snow shudder, and nodded at him. She hoped he wasn't as stupid as her brother seemed to think he was; but maybe that was only because he wished the red headed sister was his.

Thoughts in the back of her mind brainstormed ways that Robb Stark could die and her husband would be the head of House Stark. How easy it would be to seize control of the throne from there, she mused.

"Now," her husband-to-be continued with an obnoxious air of superiority, "I know the vastness and loveliness of Winterfell may overwhelm you, it being such a drastic change from that of Highgarden, but I can assure you, my Lady, that your grace and beauty will thrive in the North."

She was bitter, she would later realize, and that's what made her do it. Bitter she wasn't betrothed to Renly or even Gendry. Bitter that she was betrothed to a bastard. Bitter that she couldn't seem to find any coattails to ride this time. Or maybe she was bitter because she wasn't allowed to be drunk tonight. That was her excuse for turning on Jon Snow.

"Winterfell," she replied as she rose to him, seemingly towering above him although she had a willowy build and her frame was roughly his height, "is nothing but a pile of bricks in a rotten old snow bank. You've gone mad if you think it's half as grand as Highgarden. It's ugly and dreary and sours all who visit it. My home brings life, and I can _assure_ you, Jon Snow, that my grace and beauty is as unfit for Winterfell as your beloved Gendry's is for the Iron Throne."

And that was that.

* * *

She picked her nails during her own wedding ceremony, standing in front so all could see how uninterested she was. It was a strained few hours, and the feast was nothing but a sordid affair. Margaery Tyrell had one conversation that, she claimed, she could have gone without.

About a third of the way into the feast, she watched him saunter up to her, swaggering about as if the messenger of the gods. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror; the chestnut hair, the large doe eyes, the unmistakable beauty. But she was able to mask her superiority with innocence, so people looked upon her as anything but a threat. He masked it with pride, and looked to all as though in control. Margaery knew nothing good can come from that. The more it looks like you have power, the more enemies you make.

It killed her how much power her brother had over the king.

"Loras."

"My sweet sister. Congratulations on your wedding. You'll make a wonderful Lady of Winterfell." His eyes shone with mirth.

"Don't mock me, brother," she spat back. He hovered above her as if he was the powerful one, but they both knew that that was only half true.

"How has the Snow bastard been treating you?" Loras asked, relaxing his posture.

"You mean," she corrected, "how have I been treating him. Well enough. A bit harsh. Definitely demanding." She paused, waiting for a reply that she knew would never come. "I don't think he likes me. What ever will I do."

The elder Tyrell chuckled and finally sat beside her, off away from the majority of the guests. He handed her a goblet of wine, which she downed in an instant.

"You're to lose your maidenhead tonight," he noted, keeping a close eye on her reaction. She scoffed.

"I'm not stupid, Loras," she said, and he pushed away the thoughts wondering why his name sounded so good seeping out of her mouth, even in a violent tone. "I know that."

"And?" The Knight prompted, willing himself to stay focused on the matter at hand, the matter than Jon Snow would be breaking her maidenhead and calling her his wife.

"And that's disgusting," Margaery finished. "I'm to marry a bastard, Loras. I was supposed to marry Renly! Why did you have to screw that up for me?" It could have been a beautiful life, and it was one she dreamt of often. She and Renly would be married, Renly would be fucking Loras, and Loras would be fucking someone else as well. She'd die before admitting that she'd wake up to the image of Loras fucking the queen.

"Things got complicated," he tried, but his sister wouldn't let him leave it at that, nudging him on. "Gendry's to be heir to the throne. Things would get out of hand if Renly were to father a son."

"But I would have been queen." _And then you could have had me_.

"Sister," he spoke softly, and wondered if she hated it as much as he did when he used that word instead of a more fitting one, "you would be a horrible queen."

She saw the look in his eyes that most definitely matched her own, one of need, and she saw how close they were leaning to each other, as if she was about to whisper something in his ear. It made her skin grow warm, but she told herself to stop. It had no use.

"I know, dearest brother." She watched him cringe at the name as his sins caught up to him once more. "That's the point."

Two Tyrells. The same thought process, the same persona, the same features. _It never does good to fall in love with yourself_ was her mantra, but it seemed as if they already had.


End file.
